An Unlikely Friendship
by Owenzeegirl
Summary: Sucky Summary. The first story in my Blonde of the North series. Northumberland is one of England's oldest counties, and he has entrusted her with a difficult task during 'The Great War'. In the hope to improve their difficult relationship Northumberland sets off to Egypt in the hope she can get England out of his deadlock with Germany. Warning: OC's and a little strong language
1. Chapter 1

28th June 1914

England sat in his conservatory, lit cigarette in-between his long fingers, enjoying the rare summer sunlight that shone through the glass. He finally managed to sit down and forget about all the trouble in Europe with a cup of Earl Grey tea and a relaxing cancer stick. Once he finished his cigarette, he planned to read an English classic; he hadn't decided whether it would be Shakespeare or Jane Austen yet, but either way he would take pleasure in being engrossed by the author's words and creativity...

He closed his eyes and took a drag of the tab as he sunk into the back of his comfortable green armchair. There were no brothers to annoy him. No America to yell about new aeroplane designs or his 'awful' cooking skills. No France to distract him from his relaxation. Nothing could possibly go wrong. He sorted out both Moroccan arguments between France and Germany, even if Germany did over react a little in 1911... Nothing could go wrong, both Russia and Austria wouldn't make a move for Serbia. Austria wouldn't fight against the 'Russian Steamroller' and Russia was well aware that France and England wouldn't support him if he started a fight... France wouldn't take 'his' land back off Germany until a 'more opportune time' arose. Nothing was going to go wrong...

"Mr Kirkland! Mr Kirkland, sir!" England frowned. With all the drama going in Europe and at home, he had been quite enjoying a little time to himself...

"Yes, Jonathon?" He sighed in reply to his worried citizen as he opened his emerald eyes, ringed with black bags from a lack of sleep due to catching up on paper work.

"There's trouble in Europe, sir!" Jonathon exclaimed.

_Surprise, surprise; there's always trouble in Europe whenever I find the time to relax..._

"When is there no trouble in Europe? I've been in an arms race with Germany since 1900... I'm surprised the counties helping with the ship building haven't started throwing their tools at me yet... The tension between European powers is unbelievable; I preferred it before I started taking sides in 1905. If only Germany hadn't called that meeting over Morocco, I would never have done the surprising thing and sided with Frogface..." England began to ramble.

"Yes sir, but please listen!" England turned to look at the panicked Englishman, expelling second hand smoke through his nostrils. "Archduke Franz Ferdinand Hapsburg and his wife, Sophie, were assassinated this morning!"

England merely stared blankly at the short man in the centre of the room. Jonathon had thick eye brows like the country himself, but baby blue eyes like America's, and Scotland's fiery red hair. Jonathon had recently replaced Alan, his old messenger. England couldn't help but feel as if he hadn't quite caught onto the fact that messages were suppose to be delivered quietly. There were some things the public shouldn't know, or find out, about.

"Franz Ferdinand? As in Franz Ferdinand, next in line to become the Austro-Hungarian Emperor?" England couldn't believe his ears as he stubbed out the finished cigarette in the nearby ashtray.

"He was next in line, sir... He was shot on a visit Sarajevo. We suspect it was a group of Serbs as several arrests were made by the Austrians." Jonathon said, lowering his volume slightly.

"Shit!" England smacked his fist off the table, causing the tea tray to wobble when he did so. "That's a perfect excuse for Austria to invade Serbia... If Austria dares make a move for Serbia, Russia will want to get involved..."

"Should we send troops, sir?" Jonathon asked.

"No, I don't want to go to war because of what's happening in the Balkans..."

"Are you sure sir?"

"Yes, even ask my boss!" He waved his hand, hinting for Jonathon to leave the room.  
>Jonathon did so, feeling as if he may have interrupted Mr Kirkland in the middle of a nap. He closed the door quietly behind him. <em>It's only my second week being his messenger... Maybe he just hasn't warmed to me yet...<em> Jonathon reassured himself on the other side on the door.

England returned to staring out the window, seeing the interesting shadows that were cast by the sunlight being blocked by his various plants. He caught a glimmer of mint green out of the corner of his eye. England turned and began stroking the air.

"You know, flying mint bunny, I believe that I may need to beg for Alan to return as my messenger..." He paused "That Jonathon is far too loud... And he hugged me when I forgave him for ruining my new rug after he spilt my Earl Grey tea all over it..."

6th July 1914

England stood by the window, revealing the city of Paris in all its glory, whilst his emerald eyes gazed over a telegram. France sat in a tacky red loveseat that somehow matched the rest of his brightly coloured (but tasteful) furnishings a few feet away from him. His sapphire eyes scanned a letter he received from his boss a few minutes ago, when England also received the telegram.

England put the telegram down on the drawers to his left, impatiently waiting for France to finish reading. He had a feeling France was reading this slowly deliberately to annoy him. He took out a cigarette and his hand returned back into the pocket in search of something to light the tab with. He didn't realise how deep his pockets actually were until now.

France, however, had finished reading a while ago and debating whether to reread the letter again to irritate England a little more, or to assist the "gentlemen" with whatever he was struggling to find in his pocket. The thin and bony Brit suddenly turned to stare at the blonde, France then realised he had been caught gazing at England whilst he was searching for a lighter.

They both remained in silence for a short while. The Englishman looked like he was about to start yelling at the top of his voice. France waited for a lecture on being a pervert and how it was wrong...

"Well this is great!" England said sarcastically whilst lighting the cigarette. Apart from the cravings, they actually did reduce his stress levels slightly...

France frowned at the lack of a high volume rant, and then returned to quickly skim over the letter. He wasn't sure, but England didn't appear to be acting normally. He was puffing on more cigarettes then Scotland these days.

"I know Angleterre, Russie will certainly vant to fight Autriche-Hongrie if dey take action against Serbie..." France said, putting the letter on the side table next to him.

"That's not the point! Germany's in there encouraging Austria to act against Serbia! Germany's also agreeing to back him up if Russia gets involved!"

"It's like some sort of domino affect..." France was impressed with his creativity.

"I know that much! Austria will attack Serbia, Russia will attack Austria-Hungary, Germany will defend Austria-Hungary and then you and I will get dragged into it."

"Dat vould be amusing if dat actually happened..."

"Shut up Frogface!" England turned to the Frenchman.

"Non! You shut up! You English pig!" France immediately stood up to come face to face with him

"Don't think that just because we're in an Entente I won't rip that beard right off your Froggy-face!" England jabbed him in the chest.

"Froggy? I am zee most beautiful man on dis Earth!" France said, rubbing where he had been jabbed.

"You keep telling yourself that, you garlic eating frog!"

"Come here, big brother France will show you how to fight!" France gestured for England throw the first punch.

"Since when did a frog know anything about fighting?"

"Since je owed ton ass en 1066!"

England's fist then connected with France's jaw, as he reminded England of his last major failure to defend his land from outsiders.

"You eat frogs' legs: that makes you a cannibal Frogface!" He celebrated the successful hit while France checked to make sure his jaw still functioned correctly.

France then punched England in the gut. Fists started flying in all directions, connecting with various parts of the body. They hit each other wherever they could, neither wanting to be the loser of this pointless fight.

"Is 'frog' the only insult tu have for me?" France said, before being caught in the jaw again.

"I could call you Louis Napoleon! But it doesn't quite have the same ring to it!" England said before taking a hit to his groin.

"Vhy vould tu name moi after Napoleon III, a dead boss?" France asked, whilst England grabbed his crotch in pain.

"One...Err... Two..." He groaned as he counted to make sure he was just as manly as he was before. "Well because he was a coward and then a loser, like you! He couldn't even beat baby Germany in 1870!"

"Take zat back, right now!" France pouted, dramatically folding his arms.

"No way!" England replied.

France jumped on England's back as the 'gentleman' stood up, they both fell and started to roll around on the floor, squabbling.

24th July 1914

"That Austria is an absolute wanker! How dare he listen that German bastard!" England placed the cigarette back in his mouth to again breathe more carcinogenic smoke into his lungs.

He paced back and forth in his grand sitting room, trying not to lose his cool; he refused to be as violent as most of his brothers would be at a time like this. He wanted to be as calm as Wales is when he receives bad news; actually, he should probably ask how he managed to be so calm most of the time. America sat on the navy blue sofa, watching his ex-carer stressfully pace.

"Chill out dude. It's not like war's gonna break out all over Europe because of it..." America attempted to calm him down and failed.

England paused, looking at the ground, irritation and sleep deprivation written all over his face. He didn't know whether to strangle or hit him...

He removed the cigarette yet again, expelling the smoke from his mouth. "Have you even bothered to look at the European climate, America?" He glared sideways at the taller blonde.

"Not really Iggy... Why?" America stared at the older nation blankly.

"You're an idiot, you know that? And stop calling me Iggy!" England sighed, he couldn't even be bothered enough to use sarcasm or wit on the younger nation as it would all just be ignored.

"Whatever..." America dismissed the insult, and then stopped to try and remember what he should have been paying attention to over the past few days. "What has Austria even done?" He thought aloud.

"The Austro-Hungarian Empire has blamed the Serbian government for Franz Ferdinand's assassination and issued them with a 10 point ultimatum yesterday. An ultimatum which clearly states all the humiliating points must be met or troops will be sent to Serbia..." England resumed his restless pacing.

"So... Austria's pissed and wants Serbia to do a load of stuff because a group of Serbians called the Black Hand killed an important dude?" England again stopped pacing, not looking up from the floor.

"Yes America..." He sighed. "This is all because an important 'dude' got killed..." He took another drab on the cancer stick.

"That sort of sucks in Serbia's case..." He paused. "You got any chocolate?" America looked at England with his eyes full of hope.

"Why are you even here, anyway? Don't you have to go annoy Mexico or something?" England turned to the yank.

"Whoa! The stress getting to you dude?" America raised an eye brow.

"No America..." The Brit spat. "I'm always like this..." Sarcasm was something England was truly fluent in.

28th July 1914

England stood in front of his boss's desk at 10 Downing Street. The room had large windows and a strong smell of stale tobacco smoke. It smelt almost as if Scotland has previously been in a meeting with the Prime Minister. However, the redhead would have stuck around waiting for his little brother to fill him in on the information his boss refused to tell him.

"I must say that Roderich and Elizaveta really do keep their word..." England's boss looked at the telegram in surprise.

"The Serbs rejected one point on that ultimatum." England said, believing their behaviour was out of order. "I'm with Serbia. I wouldn't give up my independence over one man's assassination either... Especially seeing as I didn't plan it." The flaxen-haired country folded his arms.

"The Austrian's have even managed to attack the Serbian capital... It's hard to believe they sent troops to the Serbian border just three days ago..."

"What are we going to do about it sir?"

"Nothing Arthur..." the Prime Minister grunted. "We're not getting involved in a war over the Balkans."

"Is that a good idea sir?" England's eyes widened as he stared at his boss.

"Yes... We are not directly involved, why should we become so?" His boss reasoned with the country.

"I guess you're right..." The country's eyes rolled.

"You and your brothers better be ready for battle though... If anything happens between Ludwig and Francis, it puts the Belgians at risk… I was thinking the Expeditionary Force would come in handy..."

After another half hour of being briefed of the situation he was already fully aware of, England was allowed to leave the room. Before he was fully able to close the office door behind him, he was greeted with a cloud of second hand smoke. Regardless of being a smoker himself, the fair-haired man wafted the smoke away from his face. He turned to stare at the person, already knowing who the taller gentleman was...

"Hello to you too, Scotland" He shot daggers at his older sibling.

"Aye whutever..." The red-head's bright green eyes moved to observe a painting of a former boss. "Whut hasn't teh bassa told meh now?"

"He's not a 'bassa' he's our boss." England jumped to defend the man sitting behind the wooden doors.

"Some boss if he donnae even tell meh whut's happenin'. I've been dependin' on yer and France for information. If he was a real boss he'd tell meh and the rest of yer brothers himself. Teh fuckin' counties ken more than I doo!"

"Come on." England turned his back on his brother. "I'll tell you when once we're at my house." He walked off.

"Yer sure? That Jonathon lad is loud." The redhead teased as he straightened up.

"Yes, I've given him the week off..." He turned back to his sibling. "Now, do want to know or not?"  
>The taller man began to follow his brother out of 10 Downing Street.<p>

30th July 1914

The Triple Entente sat around a table in France's grand dining room. There was no food being served yet, just a meeting between the three taking place before dinner. The warm sunshine made it slightly too hot for England to cope with, so his collar had been loosened slightly; enough to allow to be a little cooler for him, but not enough for France to notice and mock the 'gentleman' for it. All three sat analysing paperwork and updates of current events.

"What do you mean 'you're mobilising your army'?" England looked up at Russia, his thick eyebrows furrowed. For once he didn't have a cigarette, mainly because Scotland stole his last box and he didn't have time to buy a new box.

"I must protect Serbii, da?" Russia smiled as if proud of what he was doing.

"Aren't tu a little late?" France asked, rubbing his beard. He, however, did possess a cigarette as he was becoming particularly stressed with all the European tension.

"Nyet! My boss just decided to give the word to protect Serbii. You can't protect a country if it's not in danger." Russia gained a spooky aura "It will be nice to crush the Avstro-Vengriya for hurting my little Serbii."

"Serbie... He's not even part of Russie!" France began to become a little unnerved, taking a drag of the cigarette to try and regain its calming effects

"He will be, da, he will be." A smile grew on his face, making his aura even creepier.

"Russia stop it, you're beginning to freak even me out a little..." England commanded.

Russia's aura faded slowly and was replaced by chanting. "Kol kol kol..."

"Vat's dat? Angleterre is beginning to lose his nerve?" France mocked.

"No! I never lose my nerve! Unlike a certain Frog I have a pair!"

"Ohonon! Vould tu like to prove it?" France laughed.

"I shouldn't have to! I thought me beating your arse at Waterloo would be enough to prove it!" England really could have done with his box of cigarettes right then...

It was almost like France was only smoking then and there to anger or irritate him. Somehow, the box France had looked oddly like the box Scotland stole from him, before he left for France.

1st August 1914

"Well this is great, isn't it London?" England turned to stare at his daughter. "Now Germany's gone and declared war on Russia."

London was a sweet and pretty girl with skin as pale as snow. Her emerald eyes were the same as her father's but were hidden behind thick glasses lenses. The strain of reading documents and various other important pieces of information eventually took its toll and her prefect green eyes had been in need of glasses since the 1800s, ironically around the same time America started wearing glasses. Luckily, she suited them. Her face looked reasonably mature for someone of her age; however, her hair was tied up into childish pigtails at the back of her head. She would often do it more formally for meetings, but this was just a visit from her father.

Her father stood glaring out the window, whilst she sat in the seat next to him, smoking her own cigarette, before looking up at him, deciding how to tackle the situation.

"On the bright side France hasn't went to go defend Russia..." She gave a weak smile as a lock of straight blonde hair fell in front of her left eye.

"But how long will it be until Frogface gets involved? We all know he's wanted Alsace-Lorraine back off the wurst eating twat since he lost it in 1871."

"You must admit for a newly united country, Germany was quite successful in his first year as a country." She said, pinning the lock back in place.

"That's only because Prussia was by his little brother's side, and Germany wasn't unified until the end of the war." England took another drag on his cigarette and went back to glaring out onto the busy London streets.

"Still... For being a country for only a short period of time he's having a pretty successful run. Even managing to compete with our navy, Italy certainly can't do that." London placed the cigarette between her lips, inhaling the tar-filled smoke.

"That's because both of the Italy brothers are cowards..." England frowned; he turned to look at portraits of their past bosses.

"Still, the better naval force in the Triple alliance should belong to Italy or at least be based there. Germany's nearly completely landlocked..." London stared at her father.

"Why are even talking about Italy and Germany?" He turned to look at her, confusion written all over his face.

"Because they're causing a load of shit in Europe..." She gave a straight forward answer.

"Watch your fucking mouth, young lady!"

"I will when you do." She glared at him.

3rd August 1914

"Why the Schlieffen Plan? Now France is involved!" England kicked a set of draws in frustration.

He slumped back into a tatty, pink armchair and struggled to light a cigarette, shaky due to frustration. He didn't want to go to war; he was too busy dealing with female psychopaths who burn down Scottish castles and tie up your boss beating him with horse whips.

"What about Belgium dad? We agreed to defend her as a neutral country in 1839." She took the match off him and lit his cigarette for him.

"I know that! I have to talk with Germany now!" He sat and drew in cancerous fumes for a long period of time, thinking about how his situation could get any worse.

The two remained in complete silence, London waiting for her dad to say something. He didn't, he just stood up and marched out the room.

London stood waiting for him to come back with an idea of what they should do. Instead, she heard a stream of muffled and violent swearing escaping under her father short and angry breathes. He usually didn't think straight when he was as stressed and sleep deprived as he was now. She scurried over to the door to find out exactly what her dad was doing.

"Where are you going?" She peered round the door into the hallway to see England chasing the brown sleeve of his coat that wasn't already on his arm.

"Belgium." He struggled to say with the cigarette in his mouth whilst trying, and failing, to put on a coat.

London just watched as he tried putting on the twisted coat. His short temper got the best off him, and he ripped it off his arms and threw it on the floor. He barged over to the front door, opened it and then slammed it behind him.

She stood there briefly, wondering whether to chase after him or not.

She decided against it. He was in no mood to be stopped.

4th August 1914

After a little help from some friendly locals, England and his soldiers managed to find Germany and his troops. He was busy fighting Belgium with a small amount of her people resisting the German forces that were attempting to pass through her home.

"Bravo Belgium." One of the English troops quietly encouraged; his statement was ignored by everyone there.

"Hey! Potato eater! Over here!" England yelled, waving his arms at Germany from on top of a large rock.  
>"Vat do you vant? I've had enough of you as my naval rival; vat you harassing me about now?" His strong German accent replied, whilst he stopped fighting Belgium to look up at England.<p>

"Withdraw your troops from Belgium's home right now!" England demanded- he was in no mood to be messed with.

Belgium suddenly took advantage of the situation and punched Germany in the gut. However, apart from being slightly winded, he wasn't really affected by her mighty hit.

"Nein!" He gasped grabbing his stomach "I must invade France before Russia finishes mobilising his army!"

She then continued to punch his left arm over and over again; he just tensed his arm and ignored her.

"Fine, you leave me with no choice but to send the British Expeditionary Force after you!"

"Oh nein! Der British Expeditionary Force!" He tried being sarcastic, it really didn't suit him as much as it did England. "You veally dink 150,000 troops are going to stop me?" He went back to his usual serious expression.

It sometimes baffled England as to how someone as serious as Germany could be related to someone as irresponsible and as easily distracted as Prussia. But then again, they both showed common qualities and traits...

"I'm going to slow you down! Then France can join me in kicking your sorry arse back to Berlin and taking your land!" England laughed.

"Is that a declaration of var?" Germany asked, straightening up, already knowing the answer.

"It certainly is!" England smirked. _This kid doesn't stand a chance against me._

19th August 1914

"Ludwig! Herr Ludwig!" Germany looked up from his crate of medical supplies to see one of his messengers returning from Berlin "The Russians finished mobilising their army! We're fighting on two fronts now!"

"Vat? That's exactly vat I didn't vant!" He straightened up. "Vait, it took less den six veeks?"

"Dat's not important, Herr Ludwig! Vat should ve do?"

Germany looked down at the ground for a brief moment, in a world of his own. Obviously the decision was a difficult one, either way he was going to lose men.

He looked back up to the messenger "Vitdraw some troops! Ve need more men to fight the Russians and support Austria-Hungary!"

Sometime after the battle of Marne...

"Dig some trenches! I don't want to get pushed back any furt-her by dem two!" Germany stood, ordering his troops

"But Herr Ludwig, you said yourself the Schlieffen Plan failed!" A trooper complained.

"I know dat! But Kaiser refuses to believe me and ignored my message saying ve failed! So ve shall stay here and fight like he commands!" Germany walked away to join some soldiers already working on the trench.

Meanwhile...

"This is just so easy! With the way we're pushing him back, this whole war will be over by Christmas!" England laughed.

"Oh, je ne suis pas, Angleterre..." France replied, unsure with what was happening on the enemy side of the battlefield.

"What's he doing Frogface?" England nudged France to see what was going on.

"Digging trenches... Je dink..." France mumbled.  
>"That's to stop him getting pushed back! We should do the same so we're not at a disadvantage to him!" England jumped to his feet.<p>

"I'll tell my troops to start digging..." France jumped up and ran off to his superiors,

England followed him. "Not if I tell mine first Frogface!"

"Stop calling moi dat!"

Later, after the 'race to sea'...

"Je ne sais pas about tu but je find these trenches most un-beautiful Angleterre!" France pouted.

"Whatever, by us both having trenches at the coastline, I'm not at risk of a German invasion!" England glared at him.

England ended up in the same trench as France. Luckily they both thought the battle would be over by Christmas and would be in and out of the trenches because of decisions having to be made by their bosses anyway, so it would be very rare that they had to share the "pleasure" of being in each other's company.

"Don't you dink dis is all a little out of hand?" England stared blankly at the Frenchman. "Dese trenches travel all the way from the coast de Belgique to Suisse!" He gestured dramatically, as if to make the distance seem even further than what it actually was.

"Vash won't mind! Besides we're in a stalemate with Germany... It will be jolly good once we figure out how to break the stalemate first!" England scoffed.

"Je preferred the old way of fighting, so much more organised when it came to battles... And more importantly the uniforms were more colourful..."

"Are girly uniforms the only thing you think about?"

"Non. Je think about other beautiful things as well... Besides, you used to wear zee "girly uniforms" too!" France reminded him.

"Shut up Frogface! What are the German forces doing now?" He glared at France and clenched his fist.  
>France dared to look over the top of the trench. "Firing at us..." He quickly ducked down as the sounds of artillery fire started.<p>

"Brilliant, they're going to attack soon, and then we can mow them down with our machine guns!" England smiled. He wouldn't admit it, but he loved the sense of adventure, it's why he was a pirate in past years.

"C'est sad how much tu are enjoying this..." France frowned.

"It's just so easy to stop an attack!" He smirked and folded his arms. "It also makes a nice change from beating your arse all the time!"

"Shut up and take ton rifle!" France rushed England's rifle into his hands before he had time to react to the command.

Sometime later...

England was happy to be out of the trenches, and glad that some worthy fighters were going in. With both Tyne and Durham City going in to fight in his place, he was confident that his absence would go unnoticed by the troops. Durham City, regardless of being female, was an excellent fighter and had been looking for another war to get involved in for years. With her short hair and lack of bust, she easily fitted in with the male soldiers. Her ability to cope with the French perverts made her the perfect candidate to replace him in the trenches. Tyne, however, was selected for completely different reasons. His war record wasn't as impressive; due to the fact Northumberland had been fighting for him most of his life, as he wasn't yet a separate county. However, his likeable personality made up for that fact. He was liked by most of the humans he came into contact with and made friends easily. Although a slight party animal, he would maintain the troops' moral until Christmas, when the war would be over.

Northumberland had no interest in fighting, with trains and boats to fuel she was far more interested in maintaining the British coal supply. The demand for coal would rise, and with winter coming and a war going on, the mines had to be at the top of their game.

England smiled at the male and female sitting opposite him. Durham had short, cropped, chestnut hair a similar shade to Italy's. Her eyes were a weird shade of green with a hint of blue. Her skin was pale and littered in white and purple scars from past battles. Her uniform matched the rest of the male soldiers; England had made it perfectly clear that she was to be treated like all of the other soldiers regardless of her gender. Tyne, however, had auburn hair; his darker, baby face had bags and a series of freckles below his eyes, which were a darker shade green, similar to England's own. His face was completely the opposite of his sister's. Whilst she hardly ever smiled, Tyne wore a cheesy grin that showed his crooked teeth all of the time. Neither of them had lived an easy life, they never let anything get them down for too long. Both of them were strong.

"So you both understand your duties." England looked at them both.

"Yes, father." Durham city replied bluntly.

Tyne didn't reply. He sat and chewed his bottom lip whilst staring out of small window just behind England's head.

"Tyne?" England snapped at him.

"Hmm?" Tyne replied absentmindedly.

"Tyne?" The county dared to make eye contact with England, facial expression unchanged. "Have you been paying attention at all during this meeting?"

"Ah ma iv..." His thick Geordie accent replied.

England raised a thick, badly trimmed eyebrow. Durham City just shook her head. She had helped with several battles already and tended to wear a dark expression on her face. Tyne's day dreaming was beginning to try her patience, she just wanted to go and fight. _We won't be going anywhere fast if this idiot doesn't buck his ideas up!_

"Wey aye, coorse ah wes! Gain sum land, git yeut iv a deadlock an' beat tha Germans! Piece iv cyek!" He smiled.

"Good." England paused, memorising their injured faces. "Well... I guess that's the end of the meeting. You're going into the trenches in the morning."

"Bye, dad." Durham City stood up

"Ah can't wait, tara da." He smiled, got up and opened the door before turning to Durham."Tara hinney, ahm ganin tuh cot!"

**[A/N: Any thing in italics is a character's thoughts.**

**I don't know whether American counties are the same but the UK counties are sub-national divisions used for the purposes of administrative, geographical and political demarcation. The counties in this are the ceremonial counties and there are 48 of them today. However at this time the county borders are different so Tyne was part of Northumberland and is now part of Tyne and Wear etc.**

**French-English translations:**  
><strong>Angleterre - England<strong>  
><strong>Russie- Russia<strong>  
><strong>Autriche-Hongrie– Austria-Hungary<strong>  
><strong>Serbie– Serbia<strong>  
><strong>Je ne sais pas –I don't know<strong>  
><strong>Tu- You<strong>  
><strong>Je-I<strong>  
><strong>Suisse-Switzerland<strong>  
><strong>de Belgique – of Belgique<strong>  
><strong>Très- Very<strong>  
><strong>C'est – It's<strong>

**Russian-English translations:**  
><strong>Serbia - Serbia<strong>  
><strong>Da- Yes<strong>  
><strong>Nyet-No<strong>  
><strong>Avstro-Vengriya– Austria Hungary<strong>

**German-English Translations:**  
><strong>Nien- No<strong>  
><strong>Der- the<strong>

**Geordie translations:**  
><strong>Ah can't wait, tara da! – I can't wait. Bye dad!<strong>  
><strong>Wey aye, ah wes da, coorse ah wes! Gain sum land, git yeut iv a deadlock an' beat tha Germans! Piece iv cyek! - Yes, I was dad, course I was! Gain some land, get out of a deadlock and beat the Germans! Piece of cake!<strong>  
><strong>Tha- The<strong>  
><strong>Tara hinney, ahm ganin tuh cot! – Bye, I'm off to bed!<strong>  
><strong>Ah ma iv...-I may of...<strong>

**Scottish- English translations:**  
><strong>WhutWhit- what**  
><strong>Donnae- don't<strong>  
><strong>Yer- you<strong>  
><strong>Teh- the<strong>  
><strong>Meh- me<strong>  
><strong>Bassa - Bastard<strong>

**Credit for Scotland goes to Kopanda! Thanks for reading please review!]**


	2. Chapter 2

[**N/A: Finally wrote the second chapter! Wrote this while listening to Busted... That's how much of a life I have. Hope you enjoy! Please, review!  
>I'm also sorry it took so long, I was suffering from a slight case of writer's block, and then there was family stuff and then technical difficulties... So sorry, but hey it's done!<br>Edit: I have also been reminded that I had to explain the whole Ireland and Northern Ireland thing. Before becoming Northern Island, he was like Ireland's own Prussia/Romano, he doesn't really do much he just represents the less Catholic North of Ireland. I haven't really though about what he did before that though so don't ask...]  
><strong>

November 25th 1914

"Gentlemen, I have come up with a plan to get us out if this deadlock!" Winston Churchill exclaimed to the British government War Council.

England sat at the back of the dim room with his brothers either side of him. England was reasonably relaxed; he had just finished a cigarette before entering the room and Scotland had just lit another. The redhead's chain smoking habit was rather disgusting; the Scotsman was more like a chimney than an actual personification.

Scotland had not always smoked, mainly because tobacco hadn't been around for the majority of his history. He didn't smoke when tobacco was first introduced either. In fact his boss, James VI & I, believed smoking was harmful and shouldn't be done. James VI even wrote a leaflet about the dangers of smoking. Scotland started smoking shortly after his boss died, and his addiction to nicotine quickly developed. England often found it hard to picture the man without a cigarette in his hand. England, however, started smoking soon after it was introduced, which upset both James VI and I, and Scotland. England avoided smoking in front of them, and even fooled his boss into thinking he had quit at one point. Scotland soon latched onto the fact that he was lying but, apart from using this fact as blackmail, he didn't bother doing anything about it.

The blonde turned towards his older brother, the red-head was leaning forward, and he appeared to be completely focused on the conversation the council was currently having. One of the pale hands held a barely smoked cancer stick close to his pale, white, face; the other was used to prop up his head so he was looking in the direction of the talking humans. The Scotsman was tired and sleep deprived- he'd been worrying about fighting the Germans and the fact that he was would be going into the trenches to fight before New Year. He wasn't scared of fighting, no, he had fought all his life; it was the fact that he would have to fight in a completely different type of warfare.

"England... England!" The blonde heard one of his other brothers hissing at him.

He turned to his right to find Wales trying to get his attention from behind both of the Irelands. Wales was quite quiet, but by choice, not because he was a naturally quiet person. England's slightly older brother was like his own Canada. Wales was the same height and looked freakishly similar to England. The only different between the two was Wales' duller eyes and darker hair.

"What?" England hissed back.

"Are you sure he should be reporting this?" England looked at his brother blankly. "Admiral Carden said a gradual attack would be more successful." Wales' accent didn't seem quite as strong when he was whispering...

"It's Winston Churchill; he's the First Lord of Admiralty. He's not going to be wrong! He's obviously thought this through! Besides, the theory behind this attack on Turkey all makes sense!" England argued back.

"But he ignored advice from an Admiral, someone with experience in the field, and then pushed the same man for a plan! It all seems rushed; senior commanders are concerned about the speed at which Churchill's pushing for an attack on the Dardanelles." Wales was truly worried about this whole idea of attacking Turkey.

"Relax, he an experienced man an-"

"'ill yer two shut yer bake oi canny 'ear waaat they are blatherin' aboyt!" Ireland scolded.

Wales froze briefly, before turning to look at the far side of the smoky room and returning to his day dreaming. England merely looked at his other older brother. Ireland was short tempered and impolite to the blonde. The darker auburn hair and darker green eyes made it easy to tell him apart from Northern Ireland. Ireland was stubborn; he refused to become Anglican and even found a way to get non-Anglican MP's into the house of Commons back in the 1800's alongside an Irish lawyer. If England got a notice about a fight in a pub, then there was a good chance that Ireland had started it. If there was a way to cause trouble or annoy England, Ireland would probably find it. England was beginning to get the feeling that the eldest of the Irelands hated joining the United Kingdom...

Later on, after the meeting had ended...

England was sitting in his study with his brother. The room was dark and smoky, mainly because of Scotland's chain smoking... The room was filled with oak furniture. England sat in a red armchair, whilst his brother sat on the foot-stool opposite. The red cushions and chairs contrasted nicely with the green wallpaper. Unlike France's house, there were no daring designs to England's rooms; there weren't any outrageous colour schemes or bizarre sculptures. England's house was a sensible house of a 'sensible gentleman'.

The blonde did ask the redhead if he'd rather sit in the armchair next to the window… His brother's reply was merely "Fuck aff!"and ash flicked in England's face. Scotland still didn't agree with the campaign plans. Wales and the Irelands had decided to lay off it; Scotland, however, continued to push for a change in the battle plans. The two had been arguing for a good hour. England, fed up of hearing about the 'bad idea', tried to change the topic many times, when he succeeded, Scotland would just change it back.

"Will you stop bloody complaining? You're worse than Wales!" England snapped at the Scotsman.

"Nae! Ah willnae! Weels is reit! It's tay rushed!" Scotland continued to argue.

"It's not! Winston Churchill is a smart man and knows what he's talking about!" England defended the plan's creator.

"An' whit exactly is it he's talkin' abit?" Scotland asked, taking another toxic drag of the cancer-stick

"Germany's allies are supporting him. Therefore, if we remove his allies, he becomes weaker and we'll be able to get out of this bloody stalemate." Scotland raised a thick eyebrow. "Turkey is the weakest of Germany's allies, so if we attack him first, we'll have the advantage of high morale before attacking Italy and Austria-Hungary."

"Whit ur ye plannin' oan daein'?" Scotland tilted his head, pretending to be interested.

"Scotland, it's a simple plan." England chuckled. "Create another front which will force the Germans to split their army further because they need to support the Turkish one. When the Germans go to assist the Turks, that will leave their lines weakened in the west or east and lead to greater mobility there as the Allies would have a weakened army to fight against."

Scotland just face palmed. England was so confident with Churchill's plan that he'd follow it to the grave. With them both being so stubborn they could sit there for hours. Well… they could go on for hours, but there was always a point in their argument where one of them would snap and attack the other...

"Donnae yer think yer leavin' a lot tae chance?" He looked back up at the idiot he called a younger brother. He was bored by this now.

"No." England folded his arms and glared at Scotland.

"Whutever, there's nae gettin' ben tae ye... Yoo're tay thrawn..." Scotland stood up and started heading towards the door.

"_I'm_ too stubborn?" England sounded offended "What about you? You won't even trust me, and Churchill in saying this is a good plan!"

"Yoo're nae e'en gonnae be thaur tae carry oot th' plan. Yoo're in th' trenches wi' me! Eejit..." The redhead said, before he marched out the door.

England sat there in confusion. He wasn't in the trenches while the campaign was taking place, was he? No, he couldn't be, he just got back from the trenches... But then again, that was only meant to be for this meeting thing... He searched his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter

_'...Scotland couldn't be right... The War Council would have told me..._' England started toying with the idea that Scotland was so nervous about this new kind of warfare that he was actually imagining things... He took a fag from the box and placed it in his mouth. He chuckled about the possibly of Scotland actually being nervous about something. Scotland was never nervous or scared, well… he didn't show if he was... England sat forward in his chair and lit the fag.

Sometime later that night...

England sat in his study, smoking another cigarette. The smoke had emptied out a little since Scotland left.

If there was something England hated more than being wrong it was when some else was right... After some investigation, it turned out England would be in the trenches with Scotland at the time of the campaign. Luckily, he got the choice of which of the counties he'd send in his place.

Unluckily every county had its own drawback... County Durham hadn't been entirely there since 1745... Essex was supporting the war effort... Yorkshire was already in the trenches and would only demand a break from fighting... Sussex and Kent were about to go into the trenches... That only left...

..His older sister...

...Northumberland...

He was going to have to visit his 'darling' older sister as soon as possible... But her home was quite big; she was always on the move... She could be anywhere in her home; she could be in the urban south or the rural north…

Arthur flicked the excess ash into an ashtray; he frowned looking at the cigarette butts. She could be visiting Scotland for all he knew... The two had hardly spoken since the Derby in 1913, when that Suffragette threw herself under the King's horse. She was the only person he could trust to lead the ANZAC and Canadian troops. She got on well with Australia and New Zealand, and she also had their older brothers' 'charm' so would be a hit with the Canadians...

The next morning

England soon realised why he didn't travel to the North as often as he should. He had forgotten how rude the Northerners from his home could be. He'd been called a 'cockney bastard' twice before he even got on the train. Luckily, he could afford to sit in first class and completely avoid the foul-mouthed working classes. They obviously didn't pass to join the army, were miners, or worked in various factories.

England was grateful for having an entire compartment to himself; he could sit and read his novel without being interrupted. Even in war-time, there were perks to being a country. He sat in the centre or the rearwards facing chair, the carriage jerking on various parts of the journey. He just sat there and relaxed, as if he was having a peaceful day without the stress of war or older siblings.

Later

Several hours, and several-hundred miles, later, he arrived in Newcastle. He decided it would be best to avoid talking until it was absolutely necessary. His plan appeared to work well; no one realised he wasn't from the area. He strolled through the grand train station with the confidence that no one recognised his unfamiliarity with the city. He hoped he could get a lift to his sister's house. He had never communicated with her to inform her of his visit, mainly because no one answered the telephone...

He walked out the train station, holding his luggage. Then he remembered that he had no idea how to get around in Newcastle. Some people where walking, others on horse and cart and some even sped around in motorcars. He didn't really plan this out... He looked around, half-hoping for Newcastle's familiar face to suddenly appear.

"Uncle Arthur!" A voice came from his right.

The blonde turned to see another, smaller blonde with short, cameral coloured hair and dull green eyes. They looked like they were in their mid-teens. The thick eyebrows indicted that this person was definitely part of his family. Their pasty white completion meant that they were definitely from the area. However, he knew all of this, and still wasn't sure whether this relative was male or female...

"Yer neet here tuh tell me off agyen, are yer?" The blonde's accent didn't really seem to match the posh voice it belonged to.

"Morpeth?" England asked, "is that you?"

"Shh... My human nyem is Harpor!" Morpeth hissed at him.

"Harper?" England raised a bushy eyebrow; the name didn't really tell England the gender of the town.

"Yeah?" Morpeth replied.

"You wouldn't happen to know where Jennifer is, would you?"

"Yeah, she's at hyem... ah thought yee would hev been lookin fo' Scotland..."

"Scotland...?"

"Yeah, he passed though here neet lang ago... Ah think he was also lookin' fo' Jennifor... or he fanceed a wark... tek yor pick..." Morpeth stared blankly at him.

"Yes, yes okay Mor-... I mean Harper; could you take me to Jennifer?"

"Ah guess..." Morpeth walked off.

England realised he was meant to follow the shorter blonde. As he hurried after Morpeth, he noticed that Morpeth's clothes were dirty and too big for the slim body that wore them. The shoes slipped off of Morpeth's ankles as the town continued to walk away from the train station entrance. England wondered what the town could have been doing in Newcastle anyway... Morpeth had other things to attend to... At least he thought that he/she did...

England continued to follow Morpeth, until the town stopped outside of a car. Morpeth stood outside the car. It was large and black with large narrow wheels.

"This is uncle Tyne's motor-car. He gave me the keys befaw he left... but ah divvint knar ha tuh drive..." Morpeth looked at him and held out the keys... England just looked at them. He didn't drive that often, but he was pretty sure Northumberland's house wasn't that far.

After managing to start the car, England and Morpeth drove out of Newcastle. Morpeth broke the awkward silence only when he/she gave the occasional direction as the two flew towards their destination.

It must have been nearly an hour before England finally pulled up outside a grand Victorian house. The house consisted of three stories and had pale brickwork, and dark wood surrounding the windows and roof from the first floor upwards. There was a tower on the left side of the house and the garden wall was covered in ivy. Several trees stood a few metres away from the house; some stood high and mighty while others didn't stand higher than the ground floor window. It had all the class a large Victorian house should, even as the sun set, it seemed to produce a welcoming aura. Unfortunately, the woman who resided in the house would probably be less than pleased about his visit.

The town and country climbed out of the old car. After grabbing his bag, England stood and looked up at the house that Northumberland designed for herself. Morpeth, however, just wandered up the steps to the porch. England looked to his left to see the town rapping on the door.

No one answered.

Morpeth waited patiently. The town shifted its weight from its left leg to its right and folded its arms, all in one smooth movement. Morpeth stared at the door, waiting.

England went back to admiring the house. He then noticed the window in front of him allowed him to seem right into the dining room. He saw several other personifications of the Northumbrian towns arguing with each other. Berwick-upon-Tweed, Bedlington, Rothbury...England listed them off in head. He couldn't help but realise that apart from Morpeth, who still stood waiting for the door to open, two other towns were missing...

"AHHH!" England screamed.

A sudden rush of freezing cold water had come from above him, drenching both himself and his belongings. He was soaked to the bone. His now wet hair stuck to his face and the emerald green eyes were clenched shut. His clothes stuck to him in the same fashion as his hair. His teeth started chattering uncontrollably. It probably wouldn't have been nearly as bad if it wasn't the end of November.

Hysterical laughter came from above. He opened one eye and looked up to find a brunette and an auburn hanging out of the first floor window. The auburn's eyes were a mix of blue and green, while the brunette's green eyes had a hint of grey to them. They were two boys wearing shirts that were far too big for their skinny little bodies. The auburn was holding a metal bucket.

"That wes class! Let's dee it agyen!" The brunette laughed.

"Nar wa' Ashin'ton, it winnet be nearly as funny as the forst time roond!" The auburn laughed.

"Anny yen wa tuh find yeut Blyth..." Ashington laughed revealing a second metal bucket.

"You two wouldn't dare!" England yelled at them.

"Oh but wuh wud." Ashington smirked.

"What would Northumberland say about this?" England attempted to scare the two.

"Ah divvint knar. Wot wud she sa' Ashin'ton?" Blyth turned to Ashington.

"Dee it..." Ashington tipped the second bucket of water.

"AHHHH! England screamed a second time.

The second bucket of water didn't make him any wetter, just colder... England stood stock still with his eyes closed trying to remain calm... The two boys laughed at him. The laughing got quieter and they closed the window and disappeared inside the house.

He then opened his eyes to find the personifications in the dining room all staring at him. Most had dirty blonde or auburn hair. All of them expect Berwick, had dull green eyes. All the boys were about 5-foot-5 while the girls were about 5-foot-3. They were quite short regardless of the fact that Northumberland was nearly the same height as England. He stood staring at them, staring at him...

England then jumped as Morpeth rapped on the door after finally growing impatient. None of the visible personifications moved to answer it. England was unsure what to do... They didn't seem to care that their sibling and uncle were locked outside of the house.

England grabbed his luggage and walked up the front door next to Morpeth, knowing that his niece's and nephew's eyes were following his every move.

The still drenched England stood next to Morpeth. They heard movement coming from inside the house, and voices bickering with each other. Suddenly, the door flew open and an elderly lady stood in the door way. She was quite small and plump; her wirey grey hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her wrinkles were noticeable and she looked tired and fed-up. England guessed that having a house full of towns did that to someone.

"Can ah help yee?" She forced herself ask.

"Aye. Ahm lookin' fo' Jennifor..." Morpeth said bitterly.

Out of all the grumpy housekeepers Northumberland had ever had this lady was by far the grumpiest of all of them...

"Howa in then... I'll sha yee tuh hor..." The lady stepped back and gestured for them to enter.

England walked in the house. His wet shoes caused him to slip on the tiled floor in the porch; he didn't fall over, but figured it would have been less embarrassing if he had. He was grateful to reach a red carpeted floor. He looked into a room with high ceilings and pink wallpaper with oak panelling. Even though it was pink, the hall wasn't very feminine; there was a cream armchair by the large staircase, an unused piano and large bookcase on the far wall, and dark fireplace to his left that was currently lit. The house-keeper barged past the two personifications and disappeared up the large staircase.

England slowly side stepped over to the fireplace, pretending to be interested in the pictures on top. He really just wanted to dry himself, which the house-keeper didn't offer to help with. He looked at the pictures on top. Although he'd been to this house before, he'd never actually looked at the pictures on this fireplace. They were typically what he'd been expecting, ones of her towns, Newcastle and Tyne, etcetera, except for the one in the middle of the fireplace. England picked it up. It was one of him and rest of his older brothers. He examined it; it was a painted after the UK was formed. Him, Scotland, Wales and the Irelands were posing for the painting. He barely remembered doing it… He noticed the differences in his and his brothers' postures. Whilst Scotland stood looking tall and proud, he stood looking stern on the opposite side of the painting. Wales stood in-between the two, with a neutral expression on his face. The two Irelands sat at the front. Ireland didn't look too pleased about being there, while Northern Ireland looked like he was trying to hide a cheesy grin.

England smiled and replaced the picture on the fireplace. He examined a second picture hanging on the wall above. It was one of Northumberland and several others. She sat with golden hair that was pinned up but went down to her waist; she looked like royalty with her pale skin and rosy-red lips. She was wearing a tight red dress. The two auburn men standing behind the chair he identified as Tyne-side and Wear-side. They looked perfectly symmetrical, with the same hair-styles and clothing from the early 1700's. Two other men were also in the painting. The tall blonde-haired man on the far left seemed to give off an aura of arrogance, whilst the second man on the far right was less confident. He was shorter and had dull green eyes and brown hair. He knew the blonde as Yorkshire and the brunette as County Durham. He was surprised to see that Yorkshire was in the painting at all, actually, Northumberland and Yorkshire didn't get on...

"Ah see yer admirin' me art work." A female voice came from behind him.

England turned to see the blonde from the painting standing half way up the stairs. However, her long golden locks were missing and replaced with a short dirty blonde pixie-cut. Her dull green eyes looked him up and down, head to toe. He had barely dried his clothed by standing by the fireplace. Her long, tight, red dress had been replaced by a long crimson skirt and cream blouse. Her pale complexion and rosy lips remained unchanged by the years that had pasted. She had remained unchanged by the recent modernisation of her area.

"Err, yes, it's a beautiful portrait, it would be hard not to admire it..." England couldn't even convince himself.

"Wot happened tuh yer?" She asked.

"Ashington and Blyth..."

Northumberland looked him up and down again. The blonde knew his sister was silently deciding whether the towns should be punished for their irresponsible actions.

"Addison! Blake!" England jumped as she suddenly called their human names up the stairs.

The two quickly appeared at the top of the large staircase, their trousers rolled up to stop them dragging along the floor. Blyth appeared to be moody, whilst Ashington looked sorry for himself... The other personifications peered around the dining room door to see what was happening. Morpeth remained silent, standing halfway between his/her other siblings and England.

"Apologise tuh yor uncle... "She commanded them.

They remained silent. England stood and watched her, while he had no control of them; she appeared to be in the metaphorical driver's seat.

"Neeo!" She again commanded, nostrils flaring

"Ahm sorry uncle Iggy, it winnet hev agyen..." Ashington's apology seemed heartfelt.

"Soz..." Was Blyth's mere response.

England looked at Northumberland, no way would she accept such an empty apology, she should make him apologise again.

"Canny enough, neeo buggor off!" she looked to the dining room, "an' yee lot gan buggor off as wey!" She dismissed them.  
>England waited until they left, secretly shocked by the fact that Northumberland allowed Blyth to get away with such an empty apology. It didn't take long for the long line of personifications to disappear up the stairs. Northumberland watched them walk over the balcony and into their various rooms before looking down on England again.<p>

"Why are yee heor?" She asked.

"I'm here with a proposal..." England smirked.

She tilted her head slightly and raised a Sealand-style eyebrow. "Ahm listenin'..."

Early the next morning...

It must have been about one in the morning. England and Northumberland sat in the conservatory with various maps of Europe and Turkey spread out across the table. England was in a fresh suit which Northumberland had allowed him to change into before they started debating the Gallipoli Campaign. The conservatory was probably a delightful place to sit on a summer's day, but now it was dark and gloomy, the only light in the room coming from a lamp on the windowsill and the tips of their glowing tabs.

"So yas hopin' yee can gain control iv the Black Sea, so yee gan git supplies tuh Russia, if this is successful...?" Northumberland summed up the aims of the campaign.

It was the early hours of the morning and Northumberland's accent was starting to become more and more Geordie as she became more sleep deprived.

"When we're successful..." England corrected.

"An' yee want wor tuh leed it cos yas in the trenches..."

"...Yes..."

Northumberland looked over the maps again... England couldn't help but wonder whether she was worrying about her coal mines...

"Areet then, I'll dee it..." She suddenly answered.

"What? You will?" England tried, and failed, to hide his surprise.

"Divvint soond so surprised..." Northumberland leant back in her chair. "Besides, ganin tuh war wi' Turkey is a lot bettor than stayin' heor an' lookin eftor a bunch iv ship-builders an' miners... It 'ill be fun tuh be fightin' agyen." She smirked.

"Err... Okay then... I guess you're going to need to stay in touch with London for further orders..." England stood up and looked around; she never invited him to stay "I guess I'll head home now..."

"Wot?" A look of surprise covered his sister's face. "Wot dee mean gan hyem? Yee live in Lundun! Ah refuse fo' me wee bairn tuh travel hyem owor neet. Yas stayin' heor t'nyte an' yee can leev eftor a canny nyte's rest!" She forgot about simplifying her accent so he could understand

"I'm sorry..." England paused, "I didn't understand..."

"Yer sleepin' heor t'nyte," she spoke slowly, "yee can leev eftor a canny nyte's rest!"

"Okay, thank you... Is it the same room as usual?"

"Iv coorse"

England saw himself to his room... His was the first room on the left at the top of stairs. It was yellow, with three beds. When it was first built, he and Scotland had insisted that they stay the first night, claiming that the ground the house was built on was haunted. He, Wales and Scotland shared this room as it was one of the four with beds, at the time. The Irelands (Ireland was nagged to come by Northern Ireland) shared the room next door and Tyne-side and Newcastle slept a little further down the hall. Northumberland chose to sleep on the opposite side of the house. To every one's surprise there was actually a ghost, well, according to Tyne-side there was. England had never seen the auburn cry so much. When Scotland went out into the corridor he was tackled by the crying man. Tyne-side's story was so convincing, Newcastle refused to go back into room after returning from the toilet.

"It's funny how Tyne-side was the only one who saw a ghost..." England thought aloud, as he removed his jacket and tie.

He looked around expecting someone or the ghost appear... Tyne-side had always been gullible to an extent, but he was never scared of anything, which made England wonder whether the ghost really did somehow manage terrify him. England shrugged before removing his shirt, revealing a well-toned torso with a small amount of muscle definition.

Northumberland would have accused him of being a liar, so he could be telling the truth... The shirt was replaced by a silky green pyjama top.

He folded his clothes and placed them on the back of a chair. The rooms hadn't been rearranged since moving in. The beds had not switched rooms. Northumberland needed a lot of extra space as counties met more often than countries and her towns, Tyne-side and Newcastle stayed over frequently.

Once fully changed for bed he climbed into the with the head board closed to the door. It was his bed- no one else slept in it. Scotland refused to sleep with his head near the door and Wales had called for the bed by the window, so it became England's bed. He let his mind wander, thinking about the Flying Mint Bunny, dragons and how he used to be afraid of immortal creatures, regardless of the fact he was nearly immortal himself. He smiled and closed his green eyes.

25thDecember 1914

England and Scotland sat next to each other in their uniforms, shovelling their breakfasts down their throats. It was freezing in the trenches. So cold, in fact, that Scotland was wearing pants instead of his kilt. He'd normally wear his kilt in the trenches, but he decided he wasn't going 'over the top' on Christmas day unless absolutely necessary. England agreed with his decision. They both felt bad for all the dead bodies lying in No Man's land. England was hoping they'd be able to collect them soon, before they could no longer be identified. Scotland hoped for the same thing; many young men lost their lives and Scotland thought that, regardless of nationality, they should be allowed to rest in peace.

"For someone who claims to have such good weather you'd think Christmas day in France would be warmer…" England said, absent-mindedly, as he thought aloud.

"If it was boilin' hot yoo'd greit tay..." Scotland replied. "Besides thes is only th' North ay his haem... It will be warmer in th' Sooth." He stood up for his best-friend.

England, Scotland and a dozen troops stood looking over the top into no-man's land. They knew something was going on in the German trenches but they all wanted to collect their dead. If the Germans shot at them, the Germans shot at them... They had men ready to fire back if necessary.

"Ah cannae believe ye talked me intae thes Iggy." Scotland muttered to the blonde.

Tyne-side was amongst the troops waiting to collect the bodies. He didn't seem panicked about going over, personifications could take a beating and he wasn't an exception to that rule. His green eyes scanned the horizon. He was excited, for some odd reason, probably because adrenaline was rushing though his veins.

"Iggy, Ahm bored, can wuh gan yet..." The auburn whined.

"Okay already".

They climbed up the ladders at either side of them and made their way across to their fallen comrades. Some of the troops had stretchers. Others planned to lift the bodies by their arms and legs.

Upon grabbing a deceased young man's arms, England looked up to realise the Germans had left their trenches too. Germany was walking straight towards them. His face was blank, not revealing any emotion. Whilst it was obvious that the British troops were collecting their dead, England didn't realise it was going to cause murder in No Man's Land.

England let go of the corpse's arms, only to find Germany coming face to face with him. Scotland moved from the body he was helping with to stand next to his younger brother. Scotland stood in a defensive stance; the redhead was determined to prevent anything from ruining his Christmas.

"Bitte..." Germany put his hands in the air so they could see them. "Ve don't vant any trouble. Ve have come to do the same as you. Ve just vant to collect our fallen troops." He said calmly, making eye contact.

Scotland relaxed slightly, moving to stand in a more neutral position. England knew that if Scotland was willing to let his guard drop, Germany was most likely telling the truth.

"Okay..." England looked at the German "I guess we could call a truce for Christmas..."

"Wunderbar" England could have sworn he seen a tiny smile appear on the taller blonde's face for a brief second.

As the two sides went collecting their dead, England noticed that some of the German and British troops had started talking... And that Scotland had changed back into his kilt for whatever the reason.

The bodies had been collected by both sides. England and Scotland walked back across No Man's Land to say they were retiring back into the trenches for the rest of the day. However, when they got there, Germany was talking to Tyne and man that looked identical to him, most likely Wear. A small smile was on Germany's face as the smaller auburn man talked and joked with him, showing him pictures of what was probably a girl. Germany appeared to be taking a genuine interest in what they had to say.

"Herr Ludwig! Herr Ludwig!" a German trooper ran up with a football in his hands and started talking in German, although it was obvious that he asking if it was okay to play football with the British troops.

Germany looked up at the brothers and pointed at the ball. England nodded, presuming he was asking if they'd like to play with them.

Tyne-side suddenly knocked the ball out of the German soldiers' hands and started kicking the ball around. His twin soon followed him and attempted a tackle. Some of the other the German and British troops then joined in, causing a panicked scream to leave Tyne's mouth as he ran from the large group of men chasing him.

England smiled as another British trooper managed to steal the ball from Tyne. A German then managed to swipe the ball from him. It wasn't long until England realised the German with the ball was Germany and that him and Scotland had joined the group of men playing football. He heard several troops from both sides laughing and enjoying themselves. They were asking each other how to say various things in German and English.

Later, after the largest game of football ever between Germany and Britain, the three countries sat talking in the middle of No Man's Land with cigarettes in their hands, talking about their traditions and families. England had learnt that Germany was a little like him, when he was new to being a country. England and Scotland had forgotten how it had been to be new at being a country; they forgot that they wanted a powerful and successful empire with a strong army and navy. But unlike them, Germany had more guidance. The British brothers had to learn as they went along. They got invaded several times before they got it right and became more powerful. Germany had Prussia, Prussia told him the do's and don'ts right after Germany was born. Germany had lived with Prussia since 1815 when he was German Confederation. No one thought it at first, but it turns out Prussia was actually a good big brother. The only reason trouble had started was because Germany was naive and every country wanted to be powerful causing tension between them... Prussia couldn't do anything about that.

They sat listening to Germany's view-point of events from his formation to this war. England had to admit it was weird seeing he himself portrayed as a traitor; he had usually supported the Germanic states because they all hated France… But then he supported France in the Moroccan crises and to Germany that was shocking.

Scotland stood up. "C'en Iggy we shood be headin' tae bed noo..."

"Okay..." England stood up "Same time next year?" England had actually really enjoyed this Christmas.

"Ja, I understand..." Germany stood up. "I guess ve could make this a little tradition..."

The countries walked off in their separate directions, knowing they'd be firing at each other the next day. They secretly knew that this wouldn't happen next year; their bosses would be scared that the opposing side would take advantage of the hospitality shown by their troops and would forbid such an event to happen again... They could only hope that this war would be over soon.

**[N/A: I understand that in the USA (and possibly other countries...) 'fag' is slang for a homosexual person. I would just like to state now that England did not set fire to a homosexual person. For those who didn't previously know in the UK (or where I'm from anyway...) 'fag' is slang for a cigarette. So is 'tab'. So if 'fag' or 'tab' are used I'm talking about cigarettes. (Also I'm not homophobic 'gay' just seemed a little insensitive to me...) We cool with that? (I'm also no trying to be funny...)  
><strong>

**I would like to state before the translations that not every Irish/Scottish/Northumbrian/Geordie person talks the same as the personifications.  
><strong>

**Translations Irish-****  
>'ill yer two shut yer bake oi canny 'eard waaat they are blatherin' aboyt! – Will you two shut up I can't hear what they're talking about!<strong>

**Translations Scottish-****  
>Nae, Ah willnae! Weels is reit! it's tay rushed! – No, I won't! Wales is right! It's too rushed!<br>An' whit exactly is it he's talkin' abit? – And what is it he's talking about?  
>Whit ur ye plannin' oan daein'? – What are you planning on doing?<br>Donnae yer think yer leavin' a lot tae chance?- Don't you think you're leaving a lot to chance  
>Whutever there's nae gettin' ben tae ye... Yoo're tay thrawn – Whatever there's no getting through to you... You're too stubborn<br>Yoo're nae e'en gonnae be thaur tae carry oot th' plan. Yoo're in th' trenches wi' me! – You're not even going to be there to carry out the plan. You're in the trenches with me  
>aff–off<br>If it was boilin' hot yoo'd greit tay...Besides thes is only th' North ay his haem... It will be warmer in th' Sooth. – If it was boiling hot you'd complain too... Besides, this is only the North of his home... It will be warmer in the South  
>Ah cannae believe ye talkin' me intae thes Iggy – I can't believe you're talking me into this Iggy<br>C'en Iggy we shood be headin' tae bed noo... – C'mon Iggy we should be heading to bed now  
><strong>

**Translations Northumbrian/Geordie (Don't worry, she won't always speak like this, it's just because before the 70s she's still representing Tyne as well)-****  
>Aye- Yes<br>Wotever- -Whatever  
>Tuh- To<br>Am/Ahm – I'm/ I am  
>Ah - I<br>Cos- Because  
>Abyeut – About<br>Yor/yer- Your  
>Yeeyer – You  
>Hardor- Harder<br>Gan- Go  
>me – myme  
>The' – They<br>Nar/Ner – No  
>Neet - Not<br>Ganin – Going  
>Sum – Some<br>Yas/yer- You're  
>winnet – Won't be<br>yeut - out  
>Wey – Well<br>Hev/ – have  
>Wes – Was<br>Eithor -either  
>Canny – good, great<br>Tek –take  
>Wee - Little (stolen from the Scottish)<br>Bairn – Child/Brother (This is also Scottish, several Geordie slang words actually come from Scotland, of the Vikings and the Anglo-Saxons)  
>Wa' – way<br>Iv – of  
>t'nyte – Tonight<br>Fo' – for  
><strong>

**If you want more info about the North East of England check out this website: **/ www . england snorth east . co . uk / Geordie Origins .html

**And a big thank you to the wonderful Greygreenwolf for beta-reading for me.]**


	3. Chapter 3

**[N/A: To anyone who is reading this... Tyne-side and Tyne are the same person. Wear-side and Wear are also the same person. Tyne-side and Wear-side are just shortened down to Tyne and Wear because people are lazy... County Durham and Durham City are two different people but their names are shortened to 'Durham' for the same reason.]**

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><p><span>January 15th 1915<span>

England sat in the trench offices, reading a letter he had received from the War Council. The room was warm and smelt of damp. The humidity of the air had potential to trigger an asthma attack and the smell of old cigarette smoke wasn't making the room any more pleasant. The dank room was lit by several lamps and allowed only a little daylight to enter. Men would travel in and out of the trenches every so often for breaks. The soldiers' preferred these damp rooms compared to the unsheltered trenches, in which they could barely stand.

Scotland leant against the wall behind the blonde, minding his own business. The Scotsman would usually write a letter to France or a close family member at this time, however, this time the red head was waiting for a letter of his own. He'd received several, but none were of the family member he wanted. It wasn't that he wanted a reply; he just wanted to know that they received his letter. He couldn't help but worry a little about the lack of reply…

"Oh, well, this is great!" England crumpled up the paper, interrupting the silence.

"Whut?" Scotland turned and looked at his stressed little brother.

"The troops in Egypt have been put on alert..." England handed him the paper ball.

Scotland straightened out the piece of paper and read the scrawled handwriting. He could barely make out what some of the words said.

"Hoo did ye e'en gie 'at frae thes? Thes person's hand-writin' is waur than mine!" Scotland remarked as he re-read the letter's content.

"I was hoping the attack could wait until I'd returned..." England massaged his temples. "I don't know whether Northumberland will be ready for battle..."

"Whut? Ye pure techt since th' riots ur th' Jacobite incidents?" Scotland said, crumpling up the letter again and throwing it on the table.

"Both... She hasn't been the same since 1745..."

"An' whose fault is 'at?"

The Scotsman moved to stand in front of his brother, interested in hearing his answer.

"Yours..." England folded his arms.

"Nae, yoors!" Scotland looked mildly insulted for a brief moment.

"I'm not the one who let the Jacobites into Newcastle and convinced her to join in..." England looked away from him.

"I'm nae th' wun 'at allowed his siblings tae git locked up an' tortured has punishment fur said events..." Scotland grabbed his shirt, forcing the blonde to look at him again.

If there was one thing that would anger Scotland, Ireland or any personification that was involved with the Jacobites, it was the mentioning of the aftermath. Scotland and Ireland would get particularly emotional about the events that took place all those years ago. It wasn't so much the fact that they themselves had been tortured; it was the fact that their children and siblings were tortured alongside them.

"Yas both tuh blame..." Wear-side snarled at the two, breaking the tension.

The two bickering brothers looked at the auburn in the corner; they hadn't even realised he had been sitting there. Unlike Tyne-side, Wear-side was quieter and chose his moments to strike- unlike his brother, the comments were often more hurtful and factual.

Tyne and Wear being identical twins meant they were nearly completely identical. The only differences being that Tyne had more of a baby-face, while Wear had a faint birthmark on his narrower jaw. The twin's face was pale and littered with freckles like his brother; his eyes were a dull shade of green and currently shooting daggers at the bickering brothers.

Aside from the odd physical feature, like freckles and birthmarks, the twins' personalities were the real difference between the two. Tyne-side was loud and sociable; popular with anyone who didn't find his impulsiveness annoying. Wear-side, on the other hand, was still sociable, but he was quieter and less impulsive. His moodiness and posture made it easy to tell him apart from his brother. Wear-side never walked his full height either- his shoulders were always hunched over even whilst sitting.

Even though the twins were apart England found it almost impossible to not compare them. For two personifications that looked so similar, they really couldn't be more different. Wear-side continued to sit hunched over in his seat on the other side of the room, glaring at to two countries. A playing card was in his hand, the rest being on the table next to him. He had obviously been playing solitaire before he was disturbed by their argument.

Scotland slowly uncurled his fingers, releasing the Englishman. England sat looking as if he was trying to hide the fact that he was very offended that he had been put in his place by someone who was currently a personification of nothing.

Scotland moved to the other side of the room and started raiding an old brown bag for a pack of cigarettes. Wear-side went back to playing his card game as if he hadn't said anything at all. England glared at the auburn

"What gives you the right to say that?" The blonde spat

"Unlike yee twa ah wasn't personally involved in the Jacobite affairs." England could almost see the smug look on the auburn's face as Wear-side turned over another card.

Scotland lit up a cigarette.

"He diz hae a point..." The redhead interrupted

England looked at Scotland taking a long first drab on the cancer stick. He then focused on the bag behind the ginger personification.

Scotland exhaled and leant back against the wall. The sound of Wear-side re-shuffling the deck after failing to complete his game came from behind him.

"Oi, did you get that from my bag?" England exclaimed.

"Wa diz it matter?" Scotland replied.

"It does you git! You're smoking my cigarettes!" England stood up

"An'?"

"They're mine! Not yours! Get your own!"

"Whutever."

England launched himself at his brother. Wear looked on calmly as the two rolled round on the floor, yelling and struggling. As he looked on, the odd punch was thrown.

"YOU BLOODY WANKER!" England yelled when he had Scotland pinned to the ground for a brief moment.

"YER BASSA!" was Scotland's reply, followed by a fist.

Wear stopped shuffling the cards and watched as the two continued to fight and roll around on the ground. He couldn't help but smirk as it reminded him of the time Northumberland rugby tackled Yorkshire during an all-English Christmas party. Although Northumberland ended up losing, Yorkshire _had _avoided her for a month before he dared to annoy her again.

Meanwhile, in London

Northumberland stood in front of the War Council. The room was filled with cigarette and cigar smoke. She enjoyed the odd cigarette, but here she felt like she was going to choke with so much smoke in the air. The room was bright; she wasn't used to being in a window filled room with the low sun warming the side of her face and blinding her slightly.

She knew as she stood there she was being silently discriminated against for being a woman. As she stood there, she saw some of the council members whisper into each others' ears whilst staring directly at her. Even in full military dress, her bust still gave away her gender. She had wrapped a strip of scrap material around her chest in a failed attempt to make her figure look manlier; she was now beginning to feel far too hot in the stuffy room because of it. Luckily she had been commanded, to leave her hat outside the room.

"Why on earth has he chosen you over County Durham?" One member eventually asked

Northumberland couldn't help but look a little surprised. She thought that Durham's ill mental health had been general knowledge to anyone who knew of the personification's existence…

"Wey, Sir,he got shot in the Napoleonic wars an' nivvor canny got owor it." She lied, looking directly in front of her and not making eye-contact with anyone.

The blonde cringed, realising that most of these men (being from the South) wouldn't understand if she spoke too quickly. She had a feeling she might be asked to repeat her answer as several members looked around in pure confusion, not understanding what she had said. Hopefully, they would buy the lie and forget that County Durham never personally fought in the Napoleonic wars.

"Then, why hasn't England picked another male county to take his place?" Another 'gentlemen' asked.

"The othor male counties hev neewheor neor as mich experience in battle as wor, Sir." She felt her jaw lock and unlock.

This time, the members of the council started whispering together, trying to understand what she said. The Northerner thought she had been speaking slowly enough for them to comprehend- apparently she was wrong.

The same council member raised his hand and the room became silent once again. He gave her a friendly smile, as if he was trying to help her prove herself to the rest of the council.

"And, why would that be?" He asked.

She inhaled though her nose and held her breath, 'trying to think of a reply that would satisfy these 'gentlemen' and prove she could do it, even if she _was_ female. If she could convince them, they'd let her get on with her job and she could leave.

She slowly exhaled.

"Ah, wes yen iv the Seven Kingdoms. The Kingdom iv Neerthumbria, if yee must knar." It felt good to say her old name again. "A've avoided Roman invasion. Mare battles hev been fowt in me hyem than any othor english county. Ah wes at evarry yen iv those battles." She felt he jaw lock. "A've been fowt owor an' fowt against. A've invaded an' been invaded. If yee remember correctlyit wes England that cyem tuh wor an' asked wor tuh tek eez place. Ah believe yee shud respect wishes as he knows what's best fo' eez hyem an' its people."

The blonde stood there, impressed by her speech. How she didn't manage to become a kingdom again was beyond her. Northumberland couldn't help but let her mind drift as she imagined all things she would do if she was still a country.

The council sat in silence, no-one daring to ask questions about the day-dreaming county in front of them. The Northern Counties were known for having their heads in the clouds and having violent mood swings if disturbed. The moody look on her face already suggested she was angry that she had to explain herself to them. One council member wondered if she was thinking how she would reap vengeance on them all for under-estimating her abilities.

After a while, it became apparent that the daydreaming County wasn't going to snap and harm them in any way. The council silently agreed that the meeting should come to an end.

"Well, Miss Kirkland, you will be expected to head to Egypt within the next few weeks..." the first council member said slowly "You are dismissed."

"Thank yee, Sir." she came to attention and exited the room.

On the other side of the door, she grabbed her cap and basically ran out if the building. She needed to contact England and inform him of what had happened.

February 13th 1915

Northumberland was officially her way to the Dardanelles with Hamilton. He was one of the men in charge of the attack besides Churchill. They hadn't sad a word to each other since they were introduced. Overall Northumberland didn't care; she was fine sitting in awkward silences with people she didn't know well. If she was honest, she loved not talking- socialising had never been something she entirely understood. She did have the occasional urge to talk to people, but only sporadically and usually with family members or seemingly friendly females. She hated travelling by sea, but how else was she to get to the Dardanelles? Aeroplanes were unreliable; the average life-expectancy of a pilot was about two weeks.

The blonde sat in her cabin. She'd demanded not to be disturbed unless it was urgent. She doubted anything would happen. She planned to attempt update her diary and get as much shut eye as possible. Every day since the blonde had learnt how to read and write she had kept a diary, filling them with daily events, along with her thoughts and feelings on those said events. To her the diaries were filled with private information, and to everyone else none of the entries made much sense. The pages were packed with nicknames, jargon and private jokes.

Northumberland couldn't help but sit in her bunk and wonder whether her little brother ever received her letter about the events of the war meeting. After all it had nearly been a month since the letter was sent. He should have replied by now…

Meanwhile...

England was in the stuffy room again. It was more crowded this time, filled with troops, socialising, playing cards and being men. Most of them had just come in from a cigarette break. Due to the room being quite warm, the unpleasant smells of sweat and smoke began to fill the blonde's nostrils.

Durham City sat opposite him. Through no fault of her own she had been excluded from the friendship groups. The men just didn't socialise with her, whether it was because of her human age or the fact she was female, England didn't know. He felt sorry for her. The only people that made an effort to talk to her were himself, other personifications and the occasional friendly trooper. Unknown to the blonde Durham City sat and scowled at anyone brave enough to come near her. The small girl didn't actually like talking to new people and would often give a short, sharp, sarcastic answer.

Durham sat as if she was hiding something from him. She didn't made eye contact or even look at the blonde. England wanted to question the unusual behaviour, but wasn't sure how to go about it in such a busy room. If she liked Scotland he would have had the red head deal with the problem.

Durham City wasn't the only problem England had at the moment. He hadn't heard from his older sister, Northumberland, in quite some time. The country was becoming concerned about her lack of communication with him. If she ran the show by herself, it could end in disaster. Scotland had told him to stop worrying, but England couldn't help but think something was off...

Durham had been twitching more than usual lately... She'd started referring to others by their last name or rank too... England looked on at the city as her right eye twitched uncontrollably when she looked around the room. Her head occasionally jerked to the right as well.

Wear-side, who was leaning against a nearby wall, had been distracted from his conversation with his fellow troops. He looked at the younger girl as if it was something to be concerned about. He looked over her from head-to-toe multiple times, as if he understood why she was twitching uncontrollably.

Wear then focused on England. England noticed his unusual behaviour, the twitching girl just in the corner of his eye. Wear mouthed something at him... England frowned, missing what he said the first time...

"Talk tuh hor..." Wear repeated.

England nodded and turned back the twitching city. Well, Durham was nearly convulsing out of her seat, her body was making involuntary movements so often... You'd almost think she was having a fit...

"Durham..." England started.

"'ere man!" She pulled an opened letter out of her pocket and shoved on the table. "Teke it! Ah cannut stand ir anymoreh!" she hissed.

The only reason the girl in front the nation hadn't yelled and stormed off was that Scotland had appeared the moment the letter was placed on the table. England didn't even know where his older sibling had come from... For a brief moment he dared to think the Scotsman had used magic... But Scotland wouldn't have been so reckless to use in front of humans.

England turned his attention back to the letter in front of him... Judging by the neatly scrawled handwriting on the envelope, the letter was from Northumberland... Could it be the letter he should have received of any updates?

England looked up at the city "Durham how long have you had this?"

Durham didn't answer. Scotland appeared to lose interest, as if the letter wasn't off who he thought. He was probably only hanging around because he too recognised Northumberland's hand writing... Durham City still twitched a little, obviously knowing the letter's contents...

"Ow!" Durham turned to punch Scotland after he jabbed her arm.

"Weel, answer yer faither!" Scotland commanded, Durham City stopped in her tracks after realising who it was.

The city punched him anyway before frowning, rubbing her arm and looking at the floor.

"Jist owwah three weeks..."

"Three weeks... You've been keeping _private information_ from me for three weeks?"

"Whey, Ah heard yer torkin' aboot Northumberland a wheel before t' letta came and yeh seemed canny stressed sa Ah though' yeh'd relax mair if yeh didn't knaa..." Her eyes began to water.

England sighed internally at this. It wasn't the fact that his daughter was upset, but sometimes she just got so angry that when she couldn't yell or storm out the room, she'd cry in rage... Something that appeared to be common in most Northern, female, personifications...

England ignored the crying girl and pulled the letter out its envelope. Judging by how creased it was, Durham had decided to try and throw it away before trying to straighten out and keep it...

Once he straightened it out he glared at Durham City before reading the letter's contents.

_"Dear Lil' Iggy,  
>I'm writing to inform you of the meeting I have just had with the War Council. They were mainly questioning me on why I have to carry out the campaign instead of another male personification. They also tried to find out the cause of County Durham's mental health. Don't worry, I lied.<br>Also, I have been informed that I shall be travelling to Egypt within the next few weeks, to meet with British and ANZAC troops... Apparently I'm meant to meet with a Canadian province as well... I never got told who... I'm assuming it will be Quebec, or one of the larger provinces. I don't know whether you know anything else... I don't want to give away too much in case this ends up in the wrong hands... So that's it.  
>Your big sis,<br>North  
>P.S: In case I forget. Keep an eye on Tyneside; he always acts weird on Saint Valentine's Day... No matter who he's with... I don't even know why..."<em>

England couldn't believe it... He'd been waiting nearly a month for an update and Durham City had had it the whole time. Fair enough, she'd given him an explanation, but surely she could have seen how annoyed he was becoming when he wasn't being told anything. He couldn't help but wonder why she didn't cave sooner... Or why Tyne-side acted "weird" on Valentine's Day... Or, more importantly, why Scotland had taken such and interest to the missing letter until he found out who it was from...

England wasn't sure whether his sister had been waiting for a reply. The letter didn't really tell him whether she wanted a response. She mentioned not going for a while, so maybe he could get a letter to her before she left…

England jumped out his seat and side-stepped out of the crowded room... Most of the men smelt like stale cigarettes. England couldn't help but look disgusted as he went past one trooper who smelt like an ash tray. '_I hope to God I don't smell that horrid after a tab...'_He thought as he left the room, leaving Scotland and Durham city lost within the smog of stale smoke and body odour.

The hope that he could still communicate with his sister before it was too late made everything else seem like a blur. He didn't realise he had passed France or Tyne as he rushed down the narrow corridor, to his office. His eyes didn't focus on anyone else until he saw a girl outside his office door.

"Bah!" England screeched to a halt, before he trampled the smaller blonde.

He looked down to realise it was London. His daughter looked him over from head-to-toe, frowning and failing to understand why he did an impression of a sheep as he came to a stop. England was breathing more heavily than usual. He didn't realise he had worked up such a sweat just walking to his office.

"Dad?" She sounded unsure.

"Yes?" England replied, trying to sound normal.

London went rummaging through her bag trying to find something. Her military uniform was far too big for her, even the satchel she was looking through seemed over-sized. London, regardless of being around since Roman times was still so young… She didn't even look eighteen.

She finally pulled a letter out and held it in front of his face. "I was told to give you this ASAP."

England took it.

"Err... Thank you..."

After all that time waiting for a letter England got two in the same day. The blonde stood looking at the envelope, so focused on trying to figure out who it was from that he didn't notice London had left him.

He opened the office door and disappeared behind it, not even looking up while doing so. The nation didn't know who it was from. It didn't look like any of his siblings had sent it...

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><p><strong>[NA: Northumberland doesn't salute when she leaves the council office because she doesn't have her beret/hat/cap on, you're not meant to salute unless you're wearing a beret/hat/cap you're just meant to come to attention to show you've at least realised a person of importance is there... So my time in the Air Cadets did come in use after all...**

**North's not a fan socialising with unfamiliar people... Even other women... She does go for a night out every now and again but she prefers solitude after seeing the mess her siblings make of themselves after a night out.  
>In Northumberland's head she speaks perfect English, as far as she's concerned it's her accent that people don't understand, not the Geordie jargon she uses.<br>I actually went down south recently, Southerners from Bristol, Cornwall and Chester sound so posh, they also sometimes struggle to understand what I was saying. One woman from Bristol loved my accent, which was the first time that's ever been said to me... And probably the last because the guy I met the next day had no idea what me and my mam where talking about...**

**I don't think translations are really needed in this chapter, there's not really any new Scottish or Geordie jargoon in this... But if you need a hand just ask, its what I'm hear for! Don't forget to review!]**


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